


Liminal Spaces

by taffywaves



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Confessions, Dreaming, Flirting, I promise i know what im doing i take ap psychology, Light Angst, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Sleep, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taffywaves/pseuds/taffywaves
Summary: Dreaming is the passageway between one day and another— a transition space where the bridge between conscious and fantasy breaks; a blurry path on the verge of reality. Dream is willing to cross it, even if it means risking his own friends."You're pretending like we aren't real, Dream," Sapnap cries over the phone, "What's wrong with you? Why has your head been so far up in the clouds?"Dream falls silent, his eyes peering at Discord. He watched as the green ring around Sapnap's profile picture fell, silence washing over the call like a wave. "It's nothing.""..."The three remain silent, tension hanging in the air like the weight of a thousand clouds. After a moment, George speaks up, his breath caught in his throat."It's me, isn't it?"
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Liminal Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic contains heavy descriptions of disassociation, overwhelming thoughts, and out-of-body experiences. Please don't read if you're sensitive to these kinds of things!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! This is my first fic in a very long time. A lot of this is very experimental, so feel free to leave suggestions or constructive criticism!

Every now and then, Dream wakes up crying. It’s not necessarily a sob, nor is it a breakdown— just simple, glistening, tears that drip down his face; a warm and salty hint of what feelings lie beyond the subconscious.

This time, however, he woke up in a setting unfamiliar to him. Instead of the cotton sheets that lined his bed, his fingers are met with light tufts of condensation. Clouds. As his fingers pushed deeper through the clouds, he met with a peculiar feeling— the soaking sensation of water. Dream’s breath hitched in his throat for an unknown reason, almost as if he were choking. He pressed his arm further into the water until his palms met something solid. Sand. The grains parted for his fingers as he gently dug his hand into it. 

Dream pulled back his hand, but to his surprise, it ended up completely dry. Dream looked around. A whole, white world of seemingly nothing but clouds and the ocean. He knew where he was, yet didn’t at the same time. It was a familiar feeling that left a pit inside his lungs.

Dream was inside his own thoughts.

An overwhelming feeling reached onto his shoulders and filled his body like an injection. It was a feeling that nearly disassociated him from a reality that never was— an emotion that made him feel asleep inside of his own dream. He stood up, glancing down at his hands and moving them around as if trying to prove to himself that he were real. He could not speak, nor could he walk. He was locked in a place of transition that lurked on the edge of reality.

_Wake up._

Dream stretches in a way that his back cracks and pops, making sure all bones and joints click into place before he starts his day. The side of his bed crumples as his hand slides for his phone, which was now buzzing with notifications and alarms. Dream picks up his phone, mindlessly scrolling through the notifications before one catches his eye: A text from George.

_Hey_

George wasn’t necessarily the most colorful texter, especially considering the fact he’s colorblind. Regardless, Dream always managed to stir the conversation in a way where it would keep flowing like lava.

_Hi, good morning. i just woke up_

_It’s 3pm_

Dream chuckles a bit. His sleep schedule is _so_ fucked up, and he knows it.

_yeah. i just woke up._

_...Well.. Good afternoon_

_thanks. wanna call?_

_Sure, why not?_

The deafening absence of noise is obstructed by Dream’s phone ringing at the most obnoxious volume possible. He nearly drops it, fumbling a bit to push the answer button.

“Hey, Dream,” George greets, “How’d you sleep?”

Dream thinks to himself for a moment. He wasn’t usually one to have fantastical and outrageous dreams, despite his name. However, recently Dream has begun to feel more alive in his nightly thoughts as if he were actually standing there in a conscious state.

“I slept fine,” Dream lies through his teeth. Most of these newfound dreams had also been accompanied by tossing and turning.

“Oh, well that’s good. I was planning to stream on the SMP in an hour or two, would you like to join?” George hums to himself, the faint sound of absentminded typing filling the background with white noise. 

“Uhm...” Dream quietly swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands up, his bones cracking. “Maybe. I’ll join later in the stream; I still need to eat and get ready.”

“Fair enough.”

“...”

“Hey... do you ever get weird dreams?”

“Huh? Do I ever get weird... ‘you’s?”

Dream playfully rolls his eyes at George's remark. “Oh, come on now, you know what I mean. It’s just.. I’ve been having some really strange... uh.. ‘nightly experiences’...” Dream’s tone of voice becomes a bit more serious. “I’m not sure what it is, or what it means.”

“Well... tell me about it. What do you feel? What are the dreams about?” George stops typing on his computer for a moment. It seems the question piqued his interest.

“I... I don’t really know how to explain it,” Dream walks over to his kitchen, the cold tiling sending light shivers down his spine. “It’s almost like— li-like I’m awake. Do you get that?”

“Those are called lucid dreams, I think. Like the song by Juice Wrld.”

“Oh, really? Huh.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think they’re supposed to happen that often. Maybe something’s up with you,” George ponders. “Maybe you should get that checked out.”

Dream snickers as he fiddles with his fingers a bit. The phone rests on the marble countertops as he leans against the fridge. “Maybe.”

Later that day, much after George had already finished streaming, Dream decided to do a bit of research.

Lucid dreams are a category of dreams that are classified as “knowing you are dreaming while you are asleep.” Dream clicks to learn more. He glazes over the article, his mind skipping over words and cherry-picking more interesting ones. The prefrontal cortex, REM sleep, Hallucinations... lots to comprehend.

Dream leans back in his chair, an exhausted sigh escaping from his mouth as he quietly taps on his desk. Not much research has been done about dreaming anyway, so it’s not like the internet would be much use to him. One thing the website _did_ suggest, however, was to keep a log of dreams.

He chuckles at the thought. Dream’s Dream Journal. 

That night, Dream thinks about what George had said to him. Maybe he _should_ get this checked out. He stares up at the pitch-black ceiling, playing with the edge of his bedsheets in deep thought. Before he can come to a conclusion, however, his mind drifts off to the passage between reality and fantasy. A dream.

The gentle scape of his thoughts fluttered with white noise that he couldn't distinguish. This was a place he had visited many times throughout his life, yet each night it seemed brand new. The feeling that rushed through his body was refreshing, euphoric, and light, almost as if he were sitting on nothing but happy memories. Dream opened his eyes, the light from his mind flushing over his face like butterflies, his hands placed neatly on his lap. He wore clothes, yet the foggy and vague setting of his brain only restricted it to a mere _concept_ of clothes.

_I'm dreaming now, aren't I?_ Dream thought to himself, silently standing up. The sound of his movements were muted as if someone were covering his ears with plugs. Before Dream could take a step, a voice rang in his head.

"Dream?"

It was a familiar voice, one he had heard before. It had a dainty accent, one that could only come from Europe. It was the voice of someone who he could remember, but not name. Not right now. Not at this moment.

And yet, while his mind was left stricken by emptiness, his voice seemed to move on its own.

"George."

_Why was he here?_ Dream thought to himself. A sinking feeling began to overtake his body as if he were no longer in control of his own movements. Throughout the numerous dreams he had had in this place, Dream had never encountered a person other than his close family members. His sisters, brother, and mother. Usually, these dreams were happy and nostalgic, like a helium balloon lost to the wind. Dream's breath locked in his throat as what he had previously assumed about this place was completely obstructed. George slowly emerged from the clouds, his footsteps echoing with ripples of water the sound of shoes on ice. He wore white goggles, a cerulean shirt with his name embroidered in red and white, blue jeans on the verge of tearing at his knees, and black, laced boots.

His pale skin shone in a way that nearly made him feel fake, light freckles dotting his face like stars in a galaxy. _What was this feeling?_

Dream focused on the gentle curves of George's face and the way the tufts of his hair went in every direction. He couldn't place his finger on it, but something about the way George had appeared had created a pit in his heart and butterflies in his stomach. Something about seeing George here had made his heart ache with nothing but electrical love.

"You're not supposed to be here," Dream said to him with a stoic undertone in his voice, "You're not supposed to see this."

"... I know. But there has to be a reason, right?" George looked up at the sky around him. Dream's heart burned like lightning. Endless questions and thoughts pounded his head like rain until he came to a final and sickening conclusion. "There's a reason why I'm here."

Dream nodded, taking in a breath of the sharp yet refreshing air that always left scars in his trachea of memories he couldn't forget. This time was no different.

"Yeah," He began, "It's because I'm in love with you."


End file.
